


gloria dei

by calarinanis



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28298754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calarinanis/pseuds/calarinanis
Summary: Contessina sits for a painting by Cosimo intended to be a gift to her from him upon the day of Christmas.
Relationships: Contessina de' Bardi/Cosimo di Giovanni de' Medici
Comments: 12
Kudos: 17





	gloria dei

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! Hope you and your families have a lovely time this year :)

Contessina longed to move her legs from the still calmness of the floor as she sat in the comfortable, luxurious chair that Cosimo had bought for a thousand florins from a far away land with a name she could not begin to pronounce. It was her own fault of course, she had pushed Cosimo to resume painting. Her back had begun to ache from being sat in the chair so long, her shoulders held square in line and her fingers were wearying of the rosary she held nestled between her fingers. Yet, she persisted. Seeing him wield his paintbrush soothed her soul in a way for the joy upon his face was nothing like any she had seen in the time since they had been married. It was interesting to watch his brow furrow as he concentrated and to see his rich ocean eyes dart from her to the canvas that he filled with careful strokes of his brush. They had not spoken a great deal since she had taken her place upon the chair: his words to command her actions and hers to agree to his wishes.

“Cosimo,” she said. “This painting-”

He interrupted. “It is to honour you as my woman.”

“You did not allow me to finish, I was going to ask-”

“You may not see it until I have finished and then it shall be my gift to you as part of the celebrations of the birth of Christ.”

“I wanted to ask if it was necessary for me to be attired as such.” Her words rang out with a clarity akin to a steel knife cutting through air.

She gestured to the crimson gown that Cosimo had chosen for her to wear as she sat for her portrait. It was beautiful, of that she knew, yet it seemed too extravagant for the wife of a banker and the neck was lower than she felt was necessary. Laced at the back with strings of rounded white pearls, it draped across her body with a flattering appeal. Contessina could understand why he had bought her the dress. But, she struggled to comprehend why she was to wear it for a portrait that would join the rest of the family portraits in the public hall. It seemed inappropriate, almost. Especially given that he intended this to be her gift in this festive period where no doubt it would be unveiled before the family. She felt it drew too much attention to her. Several seconds passed where she received no answer except a surprisingly thoughtful look from Cosimo. She heard him draw a breath. A sure sign that he would answer her question.

“I find the truth of religion amongst these soft curves of your body,” Cosimo said with a pensive air. “For what can such beauty represent if not the glory of God? It seems wrong to disguise it in false modesty when it can be glorified further by clothes that fit its bearer to flatter their figure.”

Her hands wavered from the rosary. “Cosimo,” she said.

“Keep your hands still.” His tone was that of a forbidding tutor warning his student.

Contessina looked up at him. “You cannot say such a thing.”

“Eyes down,” he said. The tone of his voice dismissed any further conversation. 

She watched as his hands busy themselves upon the canvas that he had procured for the sole purpose of painting her portrait. Long elegant fingers studded with thin gold rings wielded a paintbrush with such delicacy it was akin to watching a _maestro._ A painter for a husband had not been part of her marriage portion. She had expected a banker with more time for his wealth than for his wife and yet she had been wrong in her views because Cosimo had offered her his dedication at the altar of their wedding. Turning her head, she kept her eyes upon the elegant bronze carved bowl sat in front of her. It had been put there for her to focus and focus she must unless she wished to end up with a grotesque, disproportionate version of herself. A tickle rose in her throat. She swallowed. It was strange for her to to have Cosimo’s undivided attention roaming from her face to her feet with a peculiar look that she was unaccustomed to seeing upon his handsome, patrician face.

The cough broke out.

Cosimo placed his paintbrush down with care. “A break is needed.”

“We can continue, it is a mere trifle,” she protested though her throat grew itchier.

“There is no rush, Contessina. God created the world within six days, how can I capture his glory within a single day?” He handed her a goblet of wine. “Drink, you must not allow the feeling to linger in your throat.”

The brush of his skin against her palm was like a shock racing through her body.

“Thank you, Cosimo,” she said as she took a sip.

Warming and fragrant, she felt the spice slide down her throat like a gentle balm to ease the dry itch that had interrupted them. She felt his eyes on her. Rich, azure eyes that looked at her with care in their depths. His face looked so open. Gone was the cold banker that she saw everyday and instead a passionate artist had taken his place. A smile crept onto her face. It had taken some persuading upon her part to convince him to pick up the talent that he had discarded with his love for Bianca. When she had heard of his love for another before her, it had not stung in the way she was sure her mother-in-law expected. It had hurt her that he had been ripped away from Bianca with such callousness in the same way that Ezio had been taken from her by her marriage to Cosimo. It was then she realised they were not so different. She was outspoken and loud by her own admission yet she had yielded to her father much as Cosimo had done because they both believed in the importance of family. These similarities had helped her to look past their differences.

“We do not have to resume if you are unwell,” he said with his beautiful eyes fixed upon her.

Contessina assumed her position. “I wish to, Cosimo.” She placed the goblet beside her. “This is to be my portrait, I doubt you can paint it without me.” Her words were spoken with a teasing tone and a glimmer of mischief in her dark eyes.

“Great artists can commit to memory such beauty. I’m afraid, however, the same cannot be said for me,” he said with a smile tugging at his lips.

“You are too harsh upon yourself.” Her tone was chiding yet playful. “I do not believe you can be that awful.”

Taking her hand, a chuckle escaped him. “I cannot claim otherwise though I am grateful for your faith, my Contessina.” He pressed a kiss to her soft palm. “Now, we must resume if you are to have this portrait for the day of Christmas.”

Silence fell between them as he lifted his brush to paint once more, his every stroke measured and graceful as if this was a matter of great importance.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
